


Everybody goes, leaving those who fall behind

by Ren



Series: Maritombola 2010 [12]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:57:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ren/pseuds/Ren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Arthur left Eames behind (and one time Eames tried to do the same)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everybody goes, leaving those who fall behind

**Author's Note:**

> Written for prompt 23 ("Everybody goes, leaving those who fall behind", Placebo) of maritombola @ [**maridichallenge**](http://community.livejournal.com/maridichallenge/); it's like the Italian version of bingo, only better. This was supposed to be just a "five times" regular, short, non-porny fic. I wrote the first part but didn't know what to do for the final scene, so I asked for [**imyourheroine**](http://imyourheroine.livejournal.com/)'s opinion since some time ago made the mistake of giving me her email. She talked me into writing the angsty middle part and the "final scene" grew to be longer than everything else put together. IDK where the porn comes from, it spontaneously generated himself.  So yeah, if in doubt, blame Pat for this.

The first time is right after the Fischer job. To be honest there have been also several instances in the past years, but the Fischer job is when Eames started to keep count.

They've been... not friendly, not exactly, but tolerating each other. Capable of being in the same room without coming to physical blows even once. Plus, pulling off an inception together like they just did, it makes you all part of a team. Or so Eames thinks.

Everyone takes off in different directions as soon as they get past Customs. Cobb is eager to see his children, Saito is already on a plane back to Tokyo, Yusuf leaves with an old acquaintance.

Eames collects his bag from the conveyor belt and turns around, meaning to ask Arthur if he wants to go for a drink. Ariadne points him towards the door through which Arthur has just left. It's not surprising, really, they didn't have an arrangement or anything, but Eames is still pissed that Arthur didn't even say goodbye.

He invites Ariadne to dinner and they have a good time, but it's not the same thing.

\---

The second time they meet quite by chance in a restaurant in Stockholm. Eames is there with a prospective client and they've just sat down at their table when he sees Arthur with a group of people he doesn't recognize.

For a moment Eames worries that his cover might be blown, but Arthur isn't so foolish as that. He passes right in front of Eames's table without even nodding at him, acting as if they were complete strangers. He's either being very professional or he's deliberately ignoring Eames.

Eames is brusquely called back to reality when his companion starts telling him the job he wants him to do. He listens, occasionally making remarks or asking questions, but his mind is elsewhere. He can't help wondering if Arthur is here for work too or if these are his friends, and what he's been up to in the past few months.

Before desserts it becomes clear to Eames that he doesn't want this job. It's risky and the man sitting opposite him is a fool, though Eames already suspected that when he proposed that they meet in a restaurant instead of somewhere private.

He politely turns down the job and signals for the check. They get their coats and his not-a-client calls a taxi. At the door, Eames has a sudden change of heart and goes back pretending that he forgot something.

However, the waiter informs him that the gentlemen at table three have just left.

\---

The third time is when they were working for that Chinese corporation. In hindsight Eames should have never taken the job, most of the team is composed by suspicious-looking Chinese guys, but Arthur had been there too. Eames trusted Arthur to have done all kinds of background checks on their fellow team members.

As it turns out, Arthur had thought the same about Eames.

So when they find that their extractor is actually a double agent for the government and their whole plan goes pear-shaped before they can even get to their target, they don't even have a decent plan to get out of Beijing.

The rest of the team disappears overnight, leaving behind two westerners who stick out like a sore thumb.

Eames has a possible escape route planned, Arthur has two, but they all rely on their contacts not selling them out. Considering how badly the Chinese government wants them right now, Eames is not willing to risk it.

Arthur ends up calling in a favor with a smuggler he knows and they end up flying out to the States by way of Singapore along with a cargo of counterfeit Gucci bags.

When they land there's a remarkable lack of Chinese hit men waiting for them. Eames wants to make a joke to relieve the tension of the past twenty-four hours but there's a car waiting for Arthur already. Arthur nods to him before going on his way.

\---

The fourth time Eames is sitting in his London flat reading James Joyce when his doorbell rings. It's Arthur, looking even more sullen than usual and nursing a bruised cheekbone.

Eames offers Arthur an ice pack (which he accepts gratefully) and a cup of tea (which he accepts reluctantly). They sit at Eames's kitchen counter and he pesters Arthur with question trying to figure out what happened.

Arthur doesn't say much, just sits there holding the ice pack against the side of his face and stirs his tea until it gets cold. He only lets on that he's hiding from someone, and that much Eames has already guessed.

Still, Eames thinks Arthur did the right thing coming here. He's not going to sell him out and Eames's flat is the last place anyone would expect to find Arthur. It's almost surreal to have Arthur in his slightly rumpled suit sitting in the kitchen, so much that Eames has to check his totem several times during the evening.

He offers Arthur his couch and Arthur thanks him politely. By the next morning he's already gone and the only sign he was ever there are the two teacups in the sink.

\---

The fifth time is in a dream. It's the first time they're working together again after the Beijing failure and they're still only in the planning stages. Everything seems to be going smoothly though. This time they double- and triple-checked their fellow team members. The icing on the cake is having Ariadne as their architect.

That girl is really becoming a force to be reckoned with. She built a tower with over fifty floors for them, taking inspiration from their mark's childhood drawings. The plan is for Arthur to get them to the top floor. Then Eames, disguised as a business partner, is going to distract the mark while their extractor gets into the safe.

At least that's how the plan is supposed to go. They try their first full run into Arthur's dream but, despite all of Ariadne's shortcuts, fifty floors are simply too many. On floor thirty-seven Arthur's projections catch up with them and block the way upstairs.

Eames thinks they look just like Arthur: snappily dressed, cold-eyed and efficient. They're not armed but that's only a small comfort. Their extractor gives up immediately, shooting himself and crumpling to the floor.

Being beaten up by a mob isn't on Eames's to-do list, but he thinks thinks they still have a chance to complete their mission. They're two versus fifty and he's faced worse odds, and besides the projections are unarmed. He trains his gun on the nearest projection and shares a look with Arthur, who shakes his head.

Armed reinforcements are on their way already, Arthur says, and he should know since this is his subconscious. Eames doesn't want to concede defeat yet, either out of stubbornness or some incapacity of ever agreeing with Arthur.

Arthur looks from Eames to the mob surrounding them and then back to Eames. He doesn't say anything before shooting himself in the head.

Eames curses loudly, but the dream is already collapsing around him.

\---

Eames wakes up gasping in the loft in Perth they're using as a base. He yanks the needle from his wrist, ignoring the stinging pain, and rounds on Arthur who's just sitting up in his armchair.

"What the hell was that?" he exclaims.

"That's what I'd like to know," Arthur replies, glaring at their extractor who's talking very animatedly with Ariadne.

Eames has had enough. "That's not what I'm talking about," he says. He leans forward, planting himself firmly into Arthur's personal space until their faces are inches apart. "What's wrong with you?"

Arthur cocks an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" he asks.

"You ran away!" Eames exclaims. "You didn't even listen to what I said, you just..."

"What, did you want me to stay and watch as you got yourself lynched by an angry mob?" Arthur interrupts him. He purses his lips. "It's not in my top five ways to die."

"What do you even care?" Eames replies. Arthur blanches and shuts up. Even the others have noticed that something is going on and have stopped arguing to stare at them in silence.

Eames shakes his head and gets up, taking his jacket and heading for the door. "I can't do this, I'm sorry," he says to Ariadne.

She stares at him, her mouth rounding in a small 'o' of surprise, but he shuts the door behind him before anyone can reply.

\---

He's halfway to Toronto before he starts thinking properly about what's happened. Eames isn't this kind of person, he's never ditched a job for personal reasons before. Especially for such a petty reason.

It sounds childish and whiny, but he can't go on like that. He needs teammates who have his back and won't bail out on him. Arthur, who keeps leaving Eames behind without even bothering to say goodbye, definitely doesn't qualify.

When his plane lands, Eames has over a dozen voicemails and texts from Ariadne.

"Just what has gotten into you?" Ariadne all but screams in his ear when he has the unfortunate idea of calling her back to apologize. "Taking off like that, I've been trying to contact you for hours."

For once Eames finds himself without a witty reply ready. "I'm sorry," he says.

"Are you all right?" she asks.

"Yes," Eames says, though honestly he doesn't know.

A pause. A sigh. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"I don't know," Eames replies. He really doesn't have a clue, he just knows going back is not an option. "I'm sorry, I'll make up for it."

At the other end of the phone, in another continent, Ariadne snorts. "Good luck explaining that to our employers. Just tell me what I'm supposed to do now that we're two members short..."

"Two?" Eames repeats. Then realization hits. Oh, _of course_.

"Arthur left not long after you, he said you were flying to Canada," Ariadne is saying. "What's going on with the two of you?"

Eames isn't sure himself, but he'll be damned if he's going to let Arthur drag him back like a schoolboy playing truant. He doesn't even bother to check the destination and just books a seat on the next intercontinental flight.

\---

Two days and three continents later, Eames has learned several things.

First of all he hates food on airplanes, it reminds him too much of school lunches. Actually this isn't news to him, he's known for years, but he always hopes that _this time_ the packed sandwiches won't taste like soggy cardboard. They always do.

Second, Ariadne hates his guts and she's going to kill him. She sent him dozens of messages trying everything from bribery to blackmail to get him to come back to Australia and finish the job.

She's been silent for the past few hours, so either she's given up or she's trying to learn how to order a hit. Eames is growing worried because he's never known Ariadne to give up on anything.

Third, Arthur is way too good at what he does. For someone so quick to disappear he's proving to be insanely hard to shake off.

Right now Eames is in Paris. The clock on the waiting lounge's wall says it's three in the afternoon. Eames's internal clock says it's time for breakfast, dinner, shower and bed, in no particular order.

His flight for London is about to start boarding when his phone rings. Ariadne. He debates ignoring it but he still feels guilty enough about ditching her and the job that he picks up the call.

"I just got off the phone with Arthur," she says by way of a greeting. "You wouldn't tell him where you are, by any chance? I think he's a bit lost."

About time too, Eames thinks. "No," he says. "Sorry, I don't think I can talk to him right now."

"You can't avoid him forever," Ariadne says, and maybe she's right. But Arthur was very good at avoiding Eames so why couldn't he do the same?

He ends the call when his flight his called and thinks longingly of tea that's not instant tea and of his bed.

\---

Arthur is waiting for Eames sitting on his doorstep. He gets up when he sees Eames and straightens his tie.

He looks just as tired and jetlagged as Eames does, though his suit is immaculate as always. Eames finds this unfair since he himself looks as if he slept in his clothes. In fact he has, for two days, but that's beside the point.

Arthur shouldn't be here. He shouldn't have followed Eames across the world like some kind of vengeful spirit in a three-piece suit.

"I thought you didn't know where I was," Eames says flatly.

"I didn't know," Arthur agrees. "I lost you in Dubai, so I got here this morning and waited for you to show up."

Eames thinks that's crazy. Arthur didn't even know if Eames was going home, Eames himself didn't even know that he was going home until a few hours ago.

Then again, Eames himself has done several crazy things, many of which in the past few days.

Arthur sighs. "Stop playing around and come back to Perth," he says. "Ariadne and the others are worrying themselves sick."

He could have saved himself the trouble of asking Eames in person. "I can't work with you," Eames says, trying to reach for the door handle.

Arthur blocks his way and scoffs. "Just because we botched up a test run?"

"It's not just because of that," Eames replies, hotly. "It's because, every single time, you end up disappearing without a trace."

He didn't mean to say it like that, but it just came out and now that he started talking he can't stop.

"After the Fischer job, and after the Chinese job," he says, ticking them off on his fingers. "And that time I let you stay at my place and you disappeared overnight without even leaving a note! How am I supposed to trust you if you won't even talk to me?"

"I was in trouble," Arthur replies, slowly, as if he's choosing his words very carefully. "I didn't know if I could stay."

"Of course you could," Eames shots back. "You could have stayed for as long as you needed."

"But you never said!" Arthur replies. His cheeks are getting pinker and he's losing his usual composure. "You just tossed me a blanket and pointed me to the couch, I managed to solve my problem overnight so I thought I'd get out of your hair as soon as I could."

"Without even saying goodbye?" Eames asks, morosely. If that's something he can't forget, it's all the times that Arthur walked away in silence without even looking back.

Now Arthur is staring at him as if he's never seen Eames before.

Eames feels suddenly stupid, his own words sound childish to him. "Forget about it," he says, looking away and trying to brush past Arthur to get inside.

Arthur shakes his head and grabs him by the arm. "I didn't think you'd _care_ ," he says. Eames stares at him, jaw dropping, not sure if this is real or not. "You never contacted me about anything that wasn't work, I didn't even know if..."

"I thought _you_ didn't care," Eames replies, almost in a whisper, thinking back to all those times he's stopped halfway through dialing Arthur's number, thinking of airports and empty couches and footsteps fading in the distance.

Then he thinks of Arthur chasing him across all the world and thinks that maybe Arthur has proven his point and maybe Eames is just a huge idiot.

He thought Arthur was here to apologize, but maybe Eames is the one who should apologize. He's no good with words though, not when it comes to being honest, and he doesn't know how to make Arthur understand that he's telling the truth when he says he does care. A lot.

So he raises one hand, slowly, cupping Arthur's cheek in his palm. Arthur blinks in surprise and Eames waits for him to pull away, but maybe they're both tired of running.

Eames really, really hopes it's not just wishful thinking on his part, but Arthur is here, right on his doorstep. He's letting Eames trace the line of his cheekbone and feels so very solid under his hand. If he wanted to shove Eames away he'd have done so already.

He pins Arthur against the door and kisses him. He's got exactly one second to marvel at how soft Arthur's lips are against his, and then Arthur is kissing him back, hot and messy, tangling one hand in Eames's hair.

Eames wraps one arm around Arthur's waist, pressing them flush together, and the little noises that Arthur makes in the back of his throat solve any remaining doubts that Eames might have had.

Darling, he wants to say, I don't know about you but I think it'd be better to take this inside. Maybe somewhere with a bed, though at the moment any horizontal surface sounds good.

His brain seems to have lost the capability for coherent speech at some point, though, possibly around the time Arthur started sliding his fingers in the waistband of Eames's pants. He only manages to mutter, "Door," hoarsely against Arthur's lips, followed by a needy moan that's not really helping his cause.

He pulls back, reluctantly, and rattles the door handle for a moment before remembering to search his pockets for the keys. Arthur isn't helping at all, clinging to him and breathing against his neck, soft and warm.

It takes him forever to unlock the door but it doesn't matter because as soon as they stumble inside Arthur's tugging at his jacket and complaining about too many clothes, and for once Eames has to agree with him.

They lose most of their clothes in the short route to Eames's bedroom, fumbling with buttons and bumping against furniture, until Eames is pushing Arthur against the mattress and pressing open-mouthed kisses down his throat and along his collarbone.

When Eames sits back to take off his own shirt, Arthur's pupils are blown wide, his breath heavy.

Eames himself must look no different. He's never felt like this in years, but then again he's never had Arthur spread under him like this, pale and perfect and looking like Eames's favorite wet dream that he didn't even know he had.

He cups Arthur through the fabric of his pants, finding him more than half hard already, and strokes experimentally. Arthur arches into the touch and grips Eames's hips hard enough to bruise. "Fuck," he gasps and Eames thinks it's a brilliant plan.

"I need you," Eames says. Arthur just blinks at him and Eames licks his lips, it's taking him everything to string more than two words together. "I need you to fuck me now."

Arthur props himself on his elbows and pulls Eames in a quick kiss, humming a wordless agreement against his mouth. Words are overrated anyway.

Eames unbuttons his trousers and pushes them down his hips along with his boxer-briefs. Arthur helps him when they get tangled around his knees and tosses them aside, placing a steadying hand on Eames's arm as he almost falls off the bed trying to reach the bedside cabinet.

He finally manages to yank the bottom drawer open and retrieve the small bottle of lube he'd almost forgot he had. Arthur reaches for it but Eames catches his wrist and stops him.

"Let me," he says and it comes out harsher than he'd meant it. "Please." If Arthur touches him now he thinks he's going to come in an embarrassingly short time and he wants this to last. He desperately wants this to last.

Arthur seems to understand since he swallows noisily and gets up to remove his own pants. Eames falls down against the pillows and opens the lube bottle, pouring more on the bedcovers than on his fingers.

Eames takes a moment to admire the curve of Arthur's arse (perfect, as he'd always suspected) before slipping one hand between his legs, pressing one finger slowly inside of him. He's done this before, mostly alone or with the kind of men whose name he'll forget in the morning.

It's something else entirely to have Arthur here, sliding one hand from Eames's knee to his tight, so close that Eames can feel his heartbeat. Eames tangles his other hand in Arthur's hair and kisses him, just because he can.

"Thought I said no touching," he says, and later he'll vehemently deny that his voice was broken and he was moaning against Arthur.

Arthur just smirks and his thumb traces a butterfly pattern over the skin of Eames's tight. Eames's cock jumps at the touch and he bits his lower lip. "Darling, you'll be the death of me," he manages.

"You too," Arthur whispers back, and his hand doesn't stop. Eames slips in a second finger along with the first, pressing his hips down against the mattress, kissing Arthur to stifle the embarrassing noises he's making.

When his fingers brush against his prostrate he can't suppress a louder groan. It's been a while since his last time and he's not sure he's ready, but waiting any more is torture. "Come on," Eames murmurs. He withdraws his fingers, hissing at the loss of contact.

Arthur looks at him as if he's not sure he should believe him. Eames isn't sure himself but he's willing to risk it, and damn it, does Arthur want him to beg? He slides his lube-slick hand over Arthur's cock and Arthur shivers at the contact, breath hitching in his throat.

He gulps noisily. "Condom?" he asks, tossing a look over Eames's shoulder.

"Don't need one," Eames manages. Arthur frowns at him. "We hook up to the same PASIV machine all the time," Eames reminds him, and right now he hates Arthur a little for making him explain and waste precious time that could be better used for some other activities, such as fucking Eames senseless.

Except he can't hate Arthur when Arthur pushes him down against the pillows, kissing him sloppily before slicking himself liberally with the rest of the lube.

Arthur hooks Eames's legs over his shoulders and Eames clenches his hands in the bedcovers when he feels the tip of Arthur's cock brushing against his entrance. Arthur pauses, watching Eames's face as if looking for confirmation and Eames finds out that under the circumstances he's more than ready to beg.

"Please," he moans, staring into Arthur's dark eyes. Arthur slides into him with one long stroke, and it hurts, but at the same time it's the best feeling ever. Arthur gives him a moment to adjust and Eames nods shakily, wanting him to move, needing him to move.

The rhythm that Arthur sets is almost brutal. The room fills with the sound of skin slapping on skin and low, needy moans. It's hurried and messy and the best sex Eames remembers. He clings to Arthur desperately, pressing kisses against his shoulder.

It doesn't take long before Arthur is coming inside him, calling his name as he slumps forward. Arthur is heavy and sticky and vaguely uncomfortable but then he wraps one hand around Eames's cock and strokes once, then twice, and Eames stops thinking.

He comes all over his own stomach, feeling like his orgasm is wrenched from him. He presses against Arthur's body, fingernails digging into Arthur's shoulders.

Eames shivers as Arthur pulls out of him, hissing at the loss, suddenly feeling even more desperate than ever. "Stay," he pleads, wrapping his arms around Arthur's waist. He can't even put into words the fear that he has, that Arthur will disappear again.

Arthur just nods before slumping down on the bed next to Eames. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs.


End file.
